


cocoa powder

by cantando_siempre



Series: in a moment of breathless delight [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Artist Grantaire, Baker Enjolras, Café Musain, Cosette and Enjolras Are Foster Siblings, First Meetings, M/M, all characters except enjolras grantaire and cosette are only mentioned, combeferre/courfeyrac and jehan/montparnasse but only mentioned so it's not in the relationships, cosette pretends to be innocent but is scheming, enjolras is a mess with baking ingredients, enjolras's hair is like a dandelion when it's frizzy, grantaire has issues with flirting, grantaire is so done, references to the brick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-14 07:50:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14131515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cantando_siempre/pseuds/cantando_siempre
Summary: “Objectively?  I suggest you take a chill pill and learn people aren’t always going to go along with you because of your sun-soaked radiance, Apollo.  Personally?”  Grantaire says, casually leaning on the counter to bring them nose-to-nose.  “Personally, I suggest we go out for coffee sometime.” he grins.“Sorry, sweetheart.  Try again another time,” Enjolras smirks, placing his hands on his hips (seemingly unaware that he’s just smeared flour all over his apron, that he’s got powdered sugar on his face like freckles, and that he’s still got cocoa dusted in his hair).Grantaire’s never seen anyone more unwittingly adorable.-or: the one where grantaire is cold, cosette is innocent (or not), and enjolras needs to stop running his hands through his hair.





	cocoa powder

**Author's Note:**

> hello there! this is my first fic in this fandom and on ao3 in general, so i'm pretty excited!
> 
> warnings - very small reference to homophobia. one (1) single swear.
> 
> constructive criticism is always appreciated, and so are comments and kudos! hope you enjoy!
> 
> update (4/13/18): i changed some grantaire/enjolras interaction near the end of the work, so check it out if you've already read this before and you're interested! if this is your first time here, completely disregard this lol.

Grantaire is cold.

Actually, the word ‘cold’ is a grossly humongous understatement. Grantaire is frozen, frigid, icy, and all other words meaning ‘cold beyond belief’ right down to his bones. He’s been standing outside this bus stop in the dark, in the snow, and in glacial temperatures waiting for the bus back to his apartment for an hour, and at this point he’s seriously considering building an igloo for survival.

Walking over to the nearest heap of snow, Grantaire bends down and contemplates it. On second thought, perhaps this slush is a bit... contaminated. Bending closer, Grantaire spies several cigarette butts, copious amounts of mud and other unidentified things from the city streets, and an abandoned flyer for the notorious ‘Friends of the ABC’ activist group, all frozen inside the massive lump of ice.

Turning around, Grantaire examines his options for shelter. The police station? Grantaire’d rather not face Head of Police Javert any more than he has to. The man has the face and attitude of a cantankerous old bulldog.

Madame Baptistine’s antique store? Although Grantaire has heard wonderful things from Jehan about the ‘sweet grandmotherly lady who carries a handbag full of sweets for Paris’s playful children’, he’s also heard Madame Baptistine does not take kindly to the starving artist type wandering into her shop without intention to buy something. Additionally, Jehan had also been the person to recommend some dude named Montparnasse to Grantaire as a model for Grantaire’s semester portrait project senior year. Montparnasse had managed to surreptitiously steal Grantaire’s wallet and keys out of his pocket and his beanie right off his head before Grantaire threatened to tell Jehan. Interestingly, the slightest whisper of a blush had snuck onto Montparnasse’s face, and he had stopped immediately.

Looking down at himself and surveying his scuffed, graffitied converse and black skinny jeans with artistic fork-poked holes, Grantaire made the executive decision to not go in the antique shop unless he had a desire to run in with Officer Javert after all.

Pivoting, Grantaire looks directly across the street. A three-story rickety building squats in between two chrome-sleek office towers. The teetering building precariously leans forward, hunching over the street like a hawk, or Éponine when she found out Grantaire taught 12-year-old Gavroche how to pick locks. A hand-painted sign with elaborate and slightly pretentious flourishes names the establishment to be the ‘Café Musain’, and a rough drawing of a cupcake is embellished below the business’s title. Squinting slightly, Grantaire can make out an industrial-size heater rattling the left shop window, and a small doodle of a coffee cup sits in the corner of the window proclaiming ‘we will serve your caffeine needs and have several med students on hand in case of coffee overuse.’ Nodding to himself, Grantaire resolves to give the apparent café a shot lest he die in the cold, and traipses across the slick street.

A disgustingly cheery bell chimes as Grantaire pushes through the door of the Café Musain.   Sauntering over to a small table in the corner of the café, Grantaire drapes his coat over the back of a chair as he peruses his surroundings.  Taking up almost the entire left wall is a massive hybrid of a corkboard and whiteboard, with what seems to be visitors’ art on it.  From where he’s standing, Grantaire can see a long roll of paper that unfurls all the way to the floor and is completely filled with writing that appears to have the word ‘refrigerator’ in the title, a doodle of an extremely intricate elephant, and a sketch of a person that resembles a very angry, fluffy dandelion.  

Unwinding his tattered once-green-now-turned-black scarf from around his neck, Grantaire walks up to the counter and gives the little silver bell a tap as he intently studies the pastry case next to him.  It holds all kinds of desserts, from chocolate cake with little curls of white chocolate on top to cupcakes piled with heaps of frosting to miniature pies with delicately crafted lattices.  

A woman emerges from a back room, humming a tune Grantaire recognizes as  _La Vie en Rose_ as she glides over to Grantaire at the counter while brushing her hands off on her embroidered apron, which covers a red and white polka-dot skater dress.  “Welcome to the Café Musain! What can I do for you today?” she chirps, blowing a strand of brown hair out of her eyes with a puff and going cross-eyed as she watches it float back down. 

“Can I have a black coffee, please?” Grantaire asks.  “As hot as you can possibly get it; pretty sure I’ve got some degree of hypothermia by now. It’s my first time here; thought I’d pop in and see what my friend Jehan had been raving about, in addition to trying not to turn into an ice sculpture.  Which dessert do you suggest?” 

“You know Jehan?” The woman exclaims.  “I’m Cosette, and you must be Grantaire?”

“That’s me,” Grantaire answers hesitantly.  “How’d you know my name?”

“Jehan talks about you all the time,” Cosette says, flitting over to flick a switch and start Grantaire’s coffee brewing.  “Anyway, we love Jehan!  He’s the one that gave us the idea for the community art board.  He’s also the one that contributes the most,” she says, pointing to the insanely long roll of paper.  “Although that little gem,” she gestures to the angry dandelion person, “would be Courfeyrac’s contribution.  Enjolras had decided to blow-dry his hair that day, and Courfeyrac had to commemorate the occasion.” 

“So who’s Enjolras?” Grantaire asks curiously.  “Jehan’s introduced me to Courfeyrac before, and by extension Combeferre, but I’ve never met an Enjolras.”

“He’s Combeferre’s old roommate, from before Courfeyrac and Combeferre moved in together,” Cosette explains, grabbing Grantaire’s coffee and sliding it across the counter to him.  “He’s also my foster brother. Enjolras!” she yells over her shoulder.

Someone who does indeed strongly resemble a slightly tamed dandelion (except tremendously more gorgeous than a dandelion) pokes his head out of the kitchen behind Cosette, brushing his hand through his blonde hair and consequently streaking it with cocoa powder.  Despite the two supposedly being only foster siblings, Grantaire can see similarities. Both siblings are beautiful; Cosette in a delicate yet fierce way with her vintage-style skater dress, perfectly winged eyeliner, blush pink lipstick, and intricate braided bun. Conversely, Enjolras is all sharp edges like a marble statue; hollowed cheekbones, slanted eyebrows, and an impassioned glint in his eyes, all framed by thick blonde locks bursting from a loose bun to curl around his face. “What, Cosette?” Enjolras groans, sounding exasperated.

“Which one of your pastries should Grantaire try?”

Snapping his head over to Grantaire, Enjolras’ gaze sharpens the minute he sees him, scanning up Grantaire’s shabby jeans, paint-splattered, used-to-be-white shirt, and unruly mass of black curls capped by his favorite slouchy green beanie before snapping back down to his eyes.

“Give him the raspberry lemon petit four,” Enjolras says decisively, looking Grantaire over appraisingly one last time before disappearing back into the kitchen, followed by a clanging sound which is immediately accompanied by cursing. 

“Enjolras has spoken,” Cosette declares, reaching elbow-deep into the pastry case and fishing out a delicate creamy miniature cake topped with a fancy red rose, placing the dessert in what looks like a coffee mug, and putting it in front of him.  Grantaire bites into it and has to suppress a moan. 

“Good?” Cosette asks innocently, fluttering her eyelashes at him.

Grantaire groans incoherently.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she giggles. “You know, when I saw you come in, I figured you must be new.”

“Why’s that?”

“If you’d been in here before, Enjolras would’ve already forced one of his new recipes on you to try.  He claims he needs ‘customer reviews’.”

“Oh?”

“It’s just his awkward way of flirting,” she grins.  “Now that he’s seen you though, I’m honestly surprised Enjolras didn’t just kiss you,” Cosette says cheerfully.

Grantaire chokes on his coffee and almost spits it all over her.

Bursting into peals of laughter, Cosette claps him on the back surprisingly hard and vanishes back into the kitchen as Grantaire scoops up the remainder of his coffee and pastry and retreats to his table.  Pulling out his sketchbook, Grantaire starts a rough draft sketch of the Musain, with its patchwork of wrought-iron bar stools, squishy armchairs, and kaleidoscopic mugs.  After spending a while on drawing the art board and rendering the dandelion sketch with miniscule detail, he moves onto shading.  Halfway through, he vaguely perceives a poof of hair out of the corner of his eye and Cosette’s chiming voice at the counter, but only tunes in when he hears Enjolras start to get irritated. 

“Yes, Cosette, I know Combeferre and Courfeyrac are together and I can’t just steal Courfeyrac for the event to make out with in front of my homophobic parents.  I haven’t been arrested for months, I’ve gotten better.” Enjolras snaps.  Cosette snorts.  “But, maybe I could just hire the two of them to kiss in front of everyone instead and somehow hint about it being magically related to me?” he suggests tentatively.  Cosette rolls her eyes so hard they almost fall out of her head in the way only siblings can pull off, and waltzes away to fiddle with her eyeliner.

Unable to suppress a chuckle, Grantaire sets his sketchbook down carefully on his table and walks over to the counter.  Crossing his arms, he stares for a second at Enjolras’ impatient (beautiful) face, and listens to Enjolras  _literally tapping his foot_.  Who  _does_  that outside of movies?

Enjolras does it.

Grantaire means to provide a witty quip, or even a sincere, supportive idea for a solution to a problem that obviously bothers Enjolras.  The issue would bother him too had he not dealt with his own version of the issue in his own blundering way years ago, but something happens to the words between his brain and his mouth.

“Really, Apollo?” Grantaire scoffs.

Face instantaneously turning the same color as Cosette’s dress, Enjolras mouths  _Apollo_  with a look of impending fury on his face.

“You really think that’s gonna work?” Grantaire laughs.  “You think you’re just going to waltz in there with your pretty pastries and your pretty face and convince all the homophobic bigots it’s totally fine you like to make out with dudes?”

Grantaire observes that Enjolras’ nails are digging into his palms.

“I mean, more power to you,” Grantaire snickers.

“And what do you suggest,  _Grantaire_?” Enjolras grits out.

“Objectively?  I suggest you take a chill pill and learn people aren’t always going to go along with you because of your sun-soaked radiance, Apollo.  Personally?”  Grantaire says, casually leaning on the counter to bring them nose-to-nose.  “Personally, I suggest we go out for coffee sometime.” he grins.

Enjolras cocks his head, eyes roving over Grantaire’s face, and a blonde curl falls over his eyes as he pulls his bottom lip into his mouth and worries it. 

Grantaire wants to kiss him so _bad._

Unable to resist, Grantaire reaches out, flirtatiously brushing the wayward lock of hair behind Enjolras’ ear.

“I’d love to, truly,” Enjolras says and Grantaire’s heart might just stop, “but there’s one small issue.”

“And that is?” Grantaire manages to murmur.

“You came into my house-”

“Café,” Grantaire mutters teasingly.

“-insulted my pastries, insulted my beliefs, made fun of my face, and then asked if I’ll go on a  _date_  with you?”

Grantaire holds eye contact unwaveringly. “Yes?”

“Sorry, sweetheart.  Try again another time,” Enjolras smirks, placing his hands on his hips (seemingly unaware that he’s just smeared flour all over his apron, that he’s got powdered sugar on his face like freckles, and that he’s still got cocoa dusted in his hair).

Grantaire’s never seen anyone more unwittingly adorable. 

Dumbfounded, Grantaire slowly backs away, raising his hands in surrender and not turning his back on Enjolras as he grabs his coat, scarf, and bag and backs toward the door.  Behind Enjolras, a huge grin is splitting Cosette’s face, and she gives Grantaire an enthusiastic thumbs up and pretends to swoon, mouthing  _come back soon for more Apollo chat and pastries_ as the door swings shut in Grantaire’s face with a cheery jingle.  Grantaire blinks, stunned, and stumbles down the street to find Jehan and ask him why the hell Grantaire hasn’t been introduced to Enjolras before now.

 

(Grantaire’s got cocoa powder smudged on his hands.)

 


End file.
